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Refreshing Poems, 



Number 1, 



By G. W. BROOKS, 



MARION, KY. 

1904. 



GLASS cl xXc. Nos f 
/ 6~0 6 6 



COPYRIGHT 1904 

by G. W. Brooks, 



PREFACE. 

In presenting this little book to the thought- 
ful and busy reader of this enlightened day, 
I feel it to be my duty to offer some apology, 
and set forth some reason for requesting them 
to give it a careful reading. In the first place 
"Refreshing Poems" have been written at op- 
portune times, merely to indulge a natural 
fondness, perhaps weakness, for verse making. 

In the second place, I am fully sensible of 
the fact that there is, in this country, an in- 
creasing demand for the literary productions 
of negro intellect. While the soul-lifting liter- 
ature of the Anglo-Saxon is fanning into blazes 
fresh sparks of patriotism and noble daring, 
many thoughtful readers of both races are ask- 
ing "What with-holds the pen of the negro ? " 
"Why does he contribute so little to American 
literature ? " Afro-American school boys and 
girls are seeking poems of negro origin for 
public recitation. 

Our teachers and ministers are ever on the 
look out for verses worth quoting, written by 
the negro. 



PREFACE. 

In view of these considerations, and after 
the earnest solicitation of friends who have 
read them in manuscript, I reluctantly, though 
hopefully, send forth the foregoing poems to 
meet the critical test of the reading public. If 
from that public, they receive the mark of ap- 
proval, then, in no distant future I shall send 
forth "Refreshing Poems, No. 2," and a work of 
fiction on the race question, both of which are 
now under preparation. 

G. W. Brooks. 



What's in a Name. 

What's in a name? Man lives in deeds 

That blossom from the soul; 
Not in councils, courts or creeds, 

Where his name is on the roll. 

We're not what names and creeds imply, 

Nor what the people say; 
Our lives alone must testify, 

As we live them day by day. 

What's in a name ? ' Tis sound or sight, 

And thousands has misled. 
True men are true because its right, 

And not for what is said. 

They live for the good that may be done, 
And the peace they may bestow, 

Not for the names that may be won 
From creatures here below, 

What's in a name ? ' Tis but a sign 

Of what's supposed to be; 
And not that which the eye divine 

Doth penetrate and see. 

Men may call you what they choose, 
But still, you're what you are. 

They may your flattered soul enthuse, 
But cannot add a star. 



Landing of the First Twenfy. 

'Twas on a sultry August day — 
Back in the gloomy days of yore, 

A lonely ship approached the bay 
Of Jamestown, on Virginian shore. 

The people spied her coming slow; 

Just out upon the deep blue sea, 
And anxious were they all to know 

What the mystery of that ship might be. 

Impatiently they stood and gazed — 
Suspecting there was news to hear, 

Surprised, perplexed, almost amazed, 
On came the ship approaching near. 

Boom ! The cannon belched aloud, 
And the dying echoes quivered about. 

" Landed ! " cried the jolly crowd; 

But the mystery, yet, was not made out. 

There soon assembled on the beach, 

An eager and excited band. 
So glad were they, the scene to reach, 

A tumult raged upon the land. 

' Negroes, here, " a voice exclaimed. 

"Brought here from Africa to sell. " 
The vessel's mission thus proclaimed, 

A momentary silence fell. 



REFRESHING POEMS 



Then curiosity was rife, 

For negroes, none had e'er beheld; 
And they began a forward strife 

That has seldom been excelled. 

'' Now, don't they beat the devil, boys ! " 
" I b'lieve they equal him, by jings ! " 

Then with heedless tongue-lip noise, 
Each man some exclamation flings. 

11 They're black as midnight ! Well I'll swear!" 
" Their noses look like slugs of mud ! " 

"Say, where'd they spring from, do you know 
where ? " 
" No; they weren't mentioned in the flood' " 

"Well, now by gosh that's a jolly set. " 
" See that big one ! He's a whale ! " 

"He's strout as Sampson, too' I'll bet. " 
"See that foot and long toe nail. " 

11 Get off my toe, sir, if you please. '' 

" Excuse me — " "Gosh they look like tar." 

"Whoever saw the like o' these ? " 

"Look out! Don't crowd we-uns back so far." 

The captain stepped out on the deck 
And beaconed to the men on shore. 

He called in husky voice to check 
The crowd, and quietness restore. 

Then stepping high upon a block, 
He, for attention, waved his hand 

And then that curious, noisy flock, 
Stood silent at his firm command. 



8 REFRESHING POEMS 



"Good men of England's hope and pride," 
Rang out his mellow, fluent voice. 

"In your good judgment we confide, 
That we may make your hearts rejoice: 

Great wonders of your land, we heard, 
When we were in a distant clime, 

And now we tell you in a word, 
Your future here will be sublime. 

Your tobacco which has crossed the sea, 
Has caused the world to envy you. 

Abundant wealth here seems to be 

To make you prosperous, brave and true. 

Therefore we've brought you what you need, 
To make you happy and content; 

And now at once we'll just proceed, 
Our propositions to present. 

These Africans, we wish to trade, 
That they may be your legal slaves. 

Then you can rollick in the shade, 
While your crops the negro saves. 

You can manage them with ease, 
And instruct them how to work. 

You can trade them when you please, 
Or flog them when they dare to shirk. 

Completely at your own command, 

They'll occupy a little hut, 
They'll cultivate your fertile land, 

And rich tobacco crops they'll cut. 



REFRESHING POEMS 



Come on now, good men, no time to lose, 

Who the first bid will declare? 
Point out the surly buck you choose, 

And let us deal upon the square. 

How much tobacco do I hear 

How many pounds? Who wants to buy? 
Speak out. good men, you need not fear. 
' You can not run the price too high. 

For a few brief moments, all were mute. 

The crowd stood speechless with delight: 
They had to ponder and compute, 

And load their calibers for the fight. 

Then rapidly the bids were made, 
Eaeh man contending for the choice. 

So boistrious was the verbal raid 

The captain scarce could hear a voice. 

" Fifty! sixty! " " Seventy-four! " 

Thus ran the bids on the biggest one. 

" Eightyl ninety! " "Fifteen more! " 
The captain shouted "'All done? " 

"Stand back!" exclaimed a wealthy man, 

"Get back, all but just a few. 
Give those a chance to bid, who can; 

That's the way poor men should do. 

" I'll give a hundred and twenty-five. " 

"There now, begosh, that's more'n Fve got." 

"Bid up, good men, my sakes alive, 
That's the finest negro in the lot." 



10 REFRESHING POEMS 

"Why, on an average, every year, 

That buck can raise five hundred pounds; 

Now count the profits you will clear, 

And see how slim your bidding sounds." 

"Two hundred pounds! " " 1,11 give you three!" 
"And twenty!" "Forty!" "Fifty!" "And one!" 

"Three fifty!" "Stand back; let me see." 
The captain paused and said "All done?" 

Soon was the big one knocked off — sold, 

Another stepped upon the block. 
And one by one the tale was told 

' Till he sold the last one of that flock. 

The captives then were led away, 

To be instructed how to toil. 
Thus ended that tumultuous fray; 

And negroes trod American soil. 

Almost three hundred years have gone, 

Since that twenty landed there; 
And while that time's been rolling on, 

The negro's gone most everywhere. 

' Twas twenty then -ten million today 
Embarked in freedom's righteous cause 

And so much merit they display 

The nation greets them with applause. 

Since the flag of liberty unfurled, 

And shed forth freedom's brilliant light, 

The black man has astonished the world, 
And put adversity to flight. 



REFRESHING POEMS 11 

Upon these sabel sons of Ham, 

Sometimes is cast a haughty frown, 

But still they're rising— 'tis no sham, 
Oppression can not hold them down. 



Kind Words to the Despondent. 

Take heart, thou sad, repining soul, 
Call in those stupid thoughts that siroll. 
Just venture through that veil of gloom 
And the hopeful toils of life resume. 

Despondency is not thy friend, 
But leads to ruin in its trend- 
Go forth with resolutions bold; 
There are blessings for thee, yet untold. 

The brightest stars shine in the dark; 
Great fires kindle from a spark. 
One ray of hope within thy heart, 
Will sunshine to thy life impart. 

Do not adversity despise, 

For against the wind the kite must rise; 

Our hardships are the native soil 

In which for blessings, we must toil. 

Have disappointments been thy lot? 
Dismiss them freely from thy thought. 
Press onward toward the crown of lite, 
And God will help thee in the strife. 

12 



Mind How You Say Good Morning. 

Mind how you say good morning; 

Upon it much depends. 
The manner of your greeting 

May turn your foes to friends. 

A gentle, sweet good morning 

Is sunrise to the heart, 
Dispelling fogs of sadness 

The sunshine to impart. 

Mind how you say "good morning," 

It doesn't cost you much 
To make it kind and gentle 

And let it go as such. 

It may prove the heaping 

Of coals upon the head 
And put to flight forever 

The foe you so much dread. 

Mind how you say good morning; 

The world will not excuse 
The bluntness of your greeting, 

Because you've got the blues. 

13 



Memories of Childhood. 

How dear to my recollection 

Are the scenes of my childhood days. 
As now in sweet reflection, 

Fond memory sports and plays. 

It seems to me but lately, 

We play boys used to roam 
Where green trees stood so stately, 

Not far from my rustic home. 

Through the eye of imagination, 

And the ear of fancy's tone, 
I see the old plantation 

And hear the pigeons moan. 

I see us urchins rambling 

In the pleasant woodland breeze, 

And the frightened squirrels a scrambling 
And scudding up the trees. 

The snow ball blooms in splendor, 

In the beauty of the spring, 
And in the tree top slender, 

I hear the jay-bird sing. 

All nature's gay, and redbuds 
Hang laughing over the fence, 

Between the green and the dead woods, 
Where the new-ground fields commence. 

14 



REFRESHING POEMS 15 

Across the new-ground straggling 

The plowman plods along. 
His plowshare scratching and haggling 

Through the turfs and rootlets strong. 

Just across from there in the old-land 

Some other plowman tread 
"Where the stumps once made a bold stand, 

But mostly now have fled. 

These sullen men of few words, 

Are seldom heard to sing. 
But the quail, the lark and the bluebirds 

All make the welkin ring. 

I see old Bingo chasing 

The bouncing, white-tail hare; 
For the old rail fence they're racing 

And the white-tail beats him there. 

I hear the cataract flowing 

O'er the big rock in the brook; 
Into the hole above, I'm throwing 

My patient fishing hook. 

Expectant there I'm standing, 

And gazing at the cork. 
A sun-perch now I'm landing. 

And I'm as happy as a lark. 

I see the meadow smiling. 

And the cattle grazing 'round. 
There's the old black sow defiling 

And rooting up the ground. 



16 REFRESHING POEMS 

There's so many things inviting 

To memory's random stroll, 
I know that I am slighting 

Some things upon the scroll. 

But such as shed their lusters 

On my retrospective screen, 
Call back my thoughts in clusters, 

To the happy days I've seen. 

'Tis evening now, and the hilltops 

Are bidding the sun adieu; 
The lark is hushed; the mill stops, 

And the flowers blush anew. 

The wheels and chains are rattling, 

Returning from the field. 
And the noisy boys come a tattling 

With gladness unconcealed. 

I hear the cow bell tingling. 

And the milkmaid's charming voice, 
I hear the sheep bell jingling, 

And the bleating lambs rejoice. 

There's the house — my father's mansion. 

With its hewn-log walls of oak, 
Whose clapboard roof expansion 

Doth the gentle rains provoke. 

' Twas in that quaint enclosure, 

My infancy was spent. 
Protected from exposure, 

So happy and content. 



REFRESHING POEMS 17 

Methinks I see me leaping 

From the porch — a boy of ten; 
And there's my sister sweeping, 

And shooing the clucking hen. 

I hear the loose planks rumbling 

In the weather-beaten floor, 
As playful tots are stumbling, 

And capering 'round the door. 

I see the pot-hooks swinging 

In the kitchen fireplace wide: 
To the dish the cook is flinging 

The good old ham she's fried. 

I see us 'round the table; 

My father's at the head, 
And tells a fib or fable 

As he passes 'round the bread. 

There comes the sorghum molasses 

To my tin plate streaming down. 
Grandma peeps over her glasses 

And greets me with a frown. 

At last the supper's ended, 

We're on the porch again. 
Where long, the time's extended 

To enjoy nature's din. 

There's a thousand voices ringing 

From woodland, field and lake, 
All wakeful nature singing 

As if to keep us awake. 



18 REFRESHING POEMS 

''Who cooks, who cooks for you all?" 
Inquires the meddlesome owl. 

"For who? for who? for who all?" 
Replies a distant growl. 

There's a voice that keeps commanding 
That we should "whip poor Will," 

But without an understanding 
We refuse to whip him still. 

That screech owl makes me sorry, 

It screams and trembles so. 
What makes it fret and worry? 

I'd so much like to know. 

There's a constant din of clamoring, 

And jabbering all around 
Of commingled voices stammering 

From tree tops, lake and ground. 

The frogs' perpetual roaring 

Fills up each vacant space. 
There lies old Bingo snoring, 

And dreaming of the chase. 

Sister Nellie tells the stories 
She's read from Uncle Remus. 

And mother tells the glories 
Of a Savior to redeem us. 

But now I see us gaping, 

The conversations lull. 
'Tis time that we were napping 

For all are growing dull. 



REFRESHING POEMS 19 



My feet I'm now baptising 
In the wash pan by the door, 

And it is not surprising 

That soon I'm there no more. 

Look in the big room there. 

Do you see us on our knees, 
While father leads the prayer 

Jehovah's will to please? 

Then soon the eyelid closes 
Upon our peaceful beds. 

There, hushed in sweet reposes, 
We rest our weary heads. 

There's naught but tuneful snoring. 

All wakefulness is dead 
To dreamland, off exploring 

Our tranquil souls are sped. 

How peaceful was the slumber 
Of those happy by-gone days; 

But now old age is humbler 
And my soul leaps up in praise. 

For with the dead-past ages 
My childhood days are gone 

And the last of life's brief pages 
Is swiftly drawing on. 



A Tribute to Herod Travis. 

Come, muse of heaven, come, my pen to guide, 
From thy lofty habitation condescend, 

And with thy servant long enough abide 
To sing the virtues of this sainted friend. 

He lived beyond his three-score years and ten 
In this vile world of unrelenting strife. 

A bright example for the rest of men, 
In all that beautifies a christian life. 

In disposition, gentle as a child. 

In bus'ness, true to all with whom he dealt. 
In affliction, kind, obliging, meek and mild 

Uplifting men, his helping hand was felt. 

Each promise made by him was fully kept, 
His faithful words were trusted everywhere, 

And many are the people he has helped, 

For black and white men did his favor share. 

He loved the people where'er his lot was cast, 
And strove to help his struggling race along. 

Befriending enterprises to the last, 

He sought to make their institutions strong. 

But he trusted not alone in treasures here, 
Where moths corrupt and theives break 
through and steal. 
He learned Jehovah's name to love and fear 
And heavenly treasures were his constant 
zeal. 

20 



REFRESHING POEMS 21 

He often halted men who lived in sin 

And talked to them about the heav'nly land. 

He prayed that they a new life might begin 
And cast their lot within the heav'nly band. 

Though absent, yet in loving hearts he lives, 
And shall live on till time his course com- 
pletes. 

As monuments of honor, Marion gives 

Many walls of brick that decorate her streets. 

Those lines appeal to you in tones sublime, 
Ye busy, unreflecting, boastful man ! 

Be mindful of the shortness of your time, 

And lay up heav'nly treasures while you can. 

How vacant are the places which he filled ! 

For there are none to take his place again. 
How the heart of the one who loved him most 
is thrilled 

For him who life's dear comforter had been. 

But there is consolation in the thought 

That on some day, in some sweet by and by, 

She by his side again in judgment brought 
Will to eternal mansions with him fly. 

Many who chance to read these simple lines, 
Will resolve to meet this good old friend 
once more 
Where Christ, the Lord, the brilliant sun out- 
shines; 
And dwell forever on that blissful shore. 



The HeaJhen at Your Door. 

If you cannot reach those o'er the sea, 

On Africa's gloomy shore, 
Can you not hear the plaintive plea 

Of the heathen at your door ? 

Why dream of far off savage lands 

And jungles to explore, 
When wretched and forlorn there stands 

The heathen at your door ? 

Let others sail on mission ships, 
Befriend your nieghbors more. 

Bestow that meeker gift of yours 
On the heathen at your door. 

If with wings of love you'd rise 

And on a mission soar, 
Sail not upward toward the skies 

But light just out the door. 

Fill up that borrowed life you live 
Till streams of goodness pour 

For much of life is lent to give 
The heathen at your door. 

Your path of life may be beset 

With duties by the score, 
But in your conflicts dont forget 

The heathen at your door. 

22 



REFRESHING POEMS 23 

If you can not millions win, 

And riches lay in store, 
You can help to save from sin, 

The heathen at your door. 

Heaven smiles on those who seek 

The wayward to restore, 
And heavenly tidings you can speak 

To the heathen at your door. 

Our fathers trod the good old way, 

Back in the days of yore, 
They used to labor sing and pray 

For the heathen at the door. 

But people now have drifted so, 

They seem not to deplore 
The ignorance, folly, sin and woe 

Of the heathen at the door. 

Let us strive to emulate, 

And bask in classic lore, 
But lend a hand to elevate 

The heathen at the door. 



My Little Trundle Bed, 

Of all the relics of childhood, 

Whatever may be said, 
The one to me most precious 

Is my little trundle bed. 

There are grateful recollections 
Of past times that have fled, 

Which all have close connection 
With my little trundle bed. 

I remember how we froliced — 

Myself and brother Ned, 
Till father had to scold us 

In the little trundle bed. 

I remember little sister, 

With dimple cheeks of red, 

So often played with kitty 
On the little trundle bed. 

Oft with her spoon and tumbler, 
That sore-eyed kit she fed, 

And oft the milk she wasted 
On my little trundle bed. 

I recall that squabby baby. 

Just crumbling up her bread 
And making a general litter 

On my little trundle bed. 

24 



REFRESHING POEMS 25 

That little baby darling 

So many tears has shed, 
While mama left her crying 

On my little trundle bed. 

She's no more baby sister. 

But a woman grown, instead; 
And we often talk together 

Of the little trundle bed. 

Methinks I hear it dragging, 

Like the runners of a sled, 
As from under the big bed gliding, 

Rolls my little trundle bed. 

I hail thee as a treasure, 

My little trundle bed; 
So often thou has rested 

My weary little head. 

Dont scratch those aged railings. 

Be careful how you tread. 
Remember as you move it, 

l Tis my little trundle bed. 

How well I do remember 

The little prayers I said, 
When I used to kneel with mother 

By that little trundle bed. 

She would throw her arms around me. 

Dispelling all my dread; 
And Kiss me "goodnight, till morning." 

By my little trundle bed. 



26 REFRESHING POEMS 

O may I ever follow 

The life that mother led, 
And forget not what she taught me 

By my little trundle bed. 

That bed to me is sacred 

As the good books you have read. 
There'll always be room in my cottage 

For my little trundle bed. 



Phillis Wheatley. 

A charming little dusky maid, 
From Africa was once conveyed 

Across the stormy sea, 
Phillis Wheatly was her name, 
And surely she was born for fame. 

For a wonderful girl was she. 

A noble lady purchased her, 
And honors on her did confer, 

When yet a thoughtless child. 
This lady sought her soul to bless 
And make her life a great success, 

She was so meek and mild. 

She read the bible, we are told, 
Quite early — scarcely eight years old— 

And other books as well; 
And when eleven years of age 
She entertained the Boston sage 

And wond'rous things could tell. 

In Latin lore she soon was skilled, 
And with Ovid's charming stories filled 

Many magazines. 
The people praised her in her youth. 
Her brilliant reflected truth 

And all that wisdom means. 

27 



28 REFRESHING POEMS 

Sweet poetry she wrote with ease, 
And never did she fail to please 

The souls who read her verse. 
For heavenly muses from above 
Enshrined her with poetic love 

That did her soul immerse. 

When the revolution had begun 
She sent to General Washington 

A poem praising him. 
Then he declared if she had said 
Such things of some one else instead 

He would have published them. 

He said if she should chance to roam 
To Cambridge, or about his home, 

A visit he would pay 
To the one the muses had enrapt 
With thoughts she could so well adapt 

Such noble things to say. 

At twenty-one she was released 

From bondage, and her fame increased 

Until it spread abroad. 
She went to Europe for her health 
And there noble men of wealth 

Her genius did applaud. 

Her former mistress soon fell sick, 
And sent for Phillis to come home quick, 

For fear she'd never rise. 
Then sadly she recrossed the deep, 
Arriving just in time to weep 

And close the dying eyes. 



REFRESHING POEMS 29 

Poor Phillis felt bereft and grieved, 
And many condolences received 

From neighbors far and near. 
A few more years she still survived, 
But by and by the time arrived 

When friends began to fear. 

Her doleful cheeks began to shrink, 
And soon she lay upon the brink 

Of Jordan's chilly wave. 
Her loving friends assembled 'round, 
All steeped fn sorrow when they found 

Her life they could not save. 

As testimony from her soul 

That God had blessed and made her whole 

She left to us these lines: 
"Once I redemption neither sought nor knew; 
'Twas mercy brought me from my pagan land, 
Taught my benighted soul to understand 
That there's a God — a Savior too. 

When death approached her, calm and still, 
God sent his angels there to fill 

Her soul with heav'nly peace; 
On shining, blissful wings they bore 
Her soul to that celestial shore 

Where pleasures never cease. 

So passed a brief and brilliant life, 
From out this world of strife, 

In through the pearly gate. 
Resolve, all ye who read these lines 
To follow where her pathway shines 

Her life to imitate. 



They Thii\k TKcy Know it All. 

Man knows but little here below, 

His mental space is small. 
And some don't know enough to know 

That they don't know it all. 

All wisdom's ways they laugh to scorn, 

And scoff at duty's call. 
Tis a pity, men were ever born 

Who think they know it all. 

You often meet them on the street 

Or in a public hall 
With lovely smiles your face they greet. 

But think they know it all. 

All good advice they fling aside, 

Their notions to install. 
Blindfolded by their selfish pride 

They think they know it all. 

'Tis vain to cross their sway 

Or warn them of a fall. 
Succeed or fail, they'll have their way, 

They think they know it all. 

30 



Drifting From the Right. 

There seems to be a drifting— 

Drifting toward the wrong; 
And not so much uplifting 

Of the weaker by the strong. 
There's many a sad, heart-rending sight 
Of drifting from the right. 

There's so much wild commotion, 

Pollution, sin and haste, 
That sometimes we've a notion 

The world grows more debased. 
Humanity seems to be on flight 
And drifting from the right. 

Sin seems growing bolder 

In its destructive powers. 
Are christians growing colder, 

In this fast age of ours? 
Their duties they so often slight 
And drift away from the right. 

Boys and girls are drifting — 

Engulfed on every hand. 
Satanic hands are sifting 

Their souls as sifting sand. 
Gliding on in wretched plight 
They're drifting from the right. 

31 



32 REFRESHING POEMS 

Vain parents are neglecting 
To help them stem the tide. 

No influence reflecting 

To keep them at their side. 

Let parents hold the reins more tight, 

They're driftin from the right. 

Unthoughtful girls are floating — 

Unconscious of the end, 
While wicked men are doting — 

Rejoicing in their trend. 
Those who once were honor bright, 
Are drifting from the right. 

Into shameful folly straying, 
They drift the downward way, 

While demons are betraying 
Their virtues every day. 

From sunshine into gloomy night 

They're drifting from the right. 

In every town and city. 

In valley, hill and dale, 
The dull, acute and witty, 

The healthy and the frail, 
The black, the brown, the lily-white 
Are drifting from the right. 

It's squander, rush and hurry 
In fashions, steeped in sin, 

And unless you join the flurry 
You're not considered in. 

Renew your grip and hold on tight, 

Or you'll drift off from the right. 



REFRESHING POEMS 33 

There's pomp and push and splendor 

All vanity and pride. 
You're called on to surrender 

And drift with the evil tide. 
You must refuse, contend and fight 
Or drift down from the right. 

The evil current's flowing, 

More swiftly every day: 
Unless your strength is growing, 

You're on the downward way. 
O stem the tide with all your might. 
Stop drifting from the right, 



Crispvis Attacks in the Boston Massacre. 

The Queen of Night did Boston streets illume, 
Reflecting brilliantly upon fhe snow. 

And frightened people fled to offer room 
For British soldiers marching to and fro. 

Some men who dared their liberty assert, 
Had flaunted insults at the British guards, 

And it was plain that some one might be hurt 
As maddened soldiers left their station yards. 

The troops insulted people at their doors, 
And raged like mad men in a conquered town 

Parading round, repeating in a chorus — 

"Where are they? Fire! Fire! Knock them 
down!" 

Then up the street, the bells began to ring. 

Out rushed a gallant band of men with clubs 
Swearing vengeance, for they felt the sting 

Produced by British insults, threats and 
snubs. 

Crispus Attucks lead that gallant band; 

This daring Ethiopion patriot 
Led them onward at his brave command. 

The main guard of the British troops they 
sought. 

Forthwith unto that sturdy guard they went, 
And then, at once, an awful scene ensued; 

For those Bostonians gave their feelings vent. 
Approaching soldiers in a threatening mood. 

34 



REFRESHING POEMS 35 

They pelted them with snowballs by the score. 

They brandished clubs and hot words filled 

the air. 

They shrieked and whistled, yelled, abused 

and swore, 

And frightfully great vengeance did declare. 

"Why do you hesitate to knock them down?" 

The gallant Attucks cried; 
''They dare not fire upon us here in town. 
Shoot! you red-coats! America's on our side." 

The soldiers leveled muskets at the crowd, 
And stood as they trembled in silent rage, 

For they were itching just to be allowed 
To resent the insults cast at General Gage. 

Just then a club knocked down a soldier's gun; 

Then "Fire! Fire!" was Prescot's vigorous 
yell. 
As quick as ordered the fatal act was done, 

And first of all Crispus Attucks fell. 

He lay there dying on the frosty snow, 

Three of his bleeding comrades lay near by. 

The tyrant's cruel lead had laid them low, 
But for liberty they did not fear to die. 

Thus, first of all, the blood of Attucks flowed 
To free America from King George's reign. 

This gallant hero opened up the road 

That lead to vict'ry o'er the tryant's chain. 



36 REFRESHING POEMS 

For when he'd drawn his last departing breath 
His spirit kindled a patriotic flame. 

Men shouted, "Give me liberty, or give me 
death," 
And liberty bestirred herself and came. 

Let those who eulogize with tongue or pen 
The martyrs of America's righteous cause, 

Fail not to mention Attucks with the men 
Whose blood released us from Great Brit- 
ian's laws. 

In Boston may his statue ever stand. 

Silently warning statesmen in their haste 
To heed the claims of the negro in this land. 

From which his blood can never be erased. 



Tke Sunrise. 

Over the hilltops peeping. 

In beautiful array. 
As if from peaceful sleeping, 

Creeps forth the King of day. 

He spies the Western tree tops, 
And bids the robbin rise. 

The owl his hooting spree stops 
And the bat in slumber lies. 

He has scattered night asunder, 

And cast aside its veil. 
He is calling from their slumber. 

The healthy and the frail. 

He is lighting up the valley 

With life-infusing rays, 
All nature seems to rally 

And join in grateful praise. 

His crimson face is glowing 
With good will, peace and joy. 

The rooster has been crowing 

And the birds their songs employ. 

The cheerful bluebirds twitter 
As from their nests they fly. 

Despairing dew drops glitter 
And wane away and die. 

37 



38 REFRESHING POEMS 



Press on thou king of day time. 

With smiling rays of cheer. 
Bestow another gay time 

On us poor creatures here. 

Last night we were so weary, 
Whilst thou wast gone below, 

And mother earth was dreary! 
But now she's all aglow. 

Press upward to thy zenith, 
And we will strive for ours: 

For all that this day meaneth, 
Depends upon thy powers. 



Benjamin Banneka. 

Did you ever hear of Banneka — 

Maryland's noble, gifted son, 
The noted Benjamin Banneka, 

Who once so many honors won? 

This humble genius was endowed 
With talents such as made him great 

And he astonished many a crowd 
That went to hear him calculate. 

For himself he studied out 

And made a clock to keep his time. 

This skillful project helped, no doubt, 
To make his brilliant name sublime. 

He made a famous almanac. 

And when he published it abroad, 
Throughout the land, there was no lack 

Of words, his genius to applaud. 

Five languages he fluently spoke. 

And was skilled in scientific arts 
Great admiration he awoke 

In many fond and noble hearts. 

He even wrote to Jefferson. 

The patriotic president, 
Whose confidence and praise he won 

As reward for what his brain had spent. 

39 



40 REFRESHING POEMS 



Said Jefferson in his reply, 

"Your thoughtfulness calls forth my thanks. 
No one wishes more than I 

To lift your race to higher ranks. 

Your almanac I've sent to France, 
For your whole color has a right 

To the evidence which you advance 

To put the white man's doubts to flight." 

In Europe he was widely known; 

And when his spirit left the earth, 
That country joined in with his own, 

In testifying to his worth. 

His name still lives on history's page, 
And shall live on till the end of time, 

Inspiring men in every age, 

To make their lives like his — sublime. 



The Sunday Sckool Picnic, 

The morn of the picnic dawned at last — 

A beautiful summer day, 
And the children hurried quick and fast 

AIL jubilant and gay. 

So anxious they had waited long 

This glorious day to see; 
And now they came a happy throng, 

As jolly as they could be. 

Impatient in the old church yard. 

All eager for the stroll. 
The little lassies found it hard 

Their yearnings to control. 

Vehicles rumbled through the street; 

And welcome was the noise 
As the trusty drivers came to meet 

The waiting girls and boys. 

Gracefully fell the wheels in line, 

Heavy laden were the seats 
And covered baskets showed the sign 

Of delicious meats and sweets. 

Not only children made the crowd. 

Fond parents climbed in too, 
In sympathy they'd been allowed 

To see the children through. 

41 



42 REFRESHING POEMS 



Then started that procession grand — 

Bound for the river side. 
The people gazed on every hand 

And envied them the ride. 

Gayly sped each mettled steed, 

The wilderness to greet 
The outers saw the town recede 

And take its long retreat 

On they swept from lane to lane 

Baptised in clouds of dust. 
No grumbling voice was heard complain 

For go they would and must. 

Up the rocky hills they climbed. 

And down the hills they fled. 
The chattering hack wheels screaked and 
rhymed. 

As joyfully on they sped. 

The farmer's wives in great surprise, 

Oft stood within the door. 
Peeping, peering with lusty eyes 

The mystery to explore. 

Gleefully onward still they drove. 

Now through the sunshine bright 
Then dashing through a shady grove 

And putting birds to flight. 

So frightened they a farmer's colt, 

It forsook its mamma's side 
And nickering in its frantic bolt, 

"They're after me," it cried. 



REFRESHING POEMS 43 

Rattling, bumping, jostling on 

This jolly picnic crew 
O'er thirteen rugged miles had gone 

When the river loomed in view. 

Then rushing through the little ville 

That stood on one of its banks 
Each bosom felt a joyous thrill 

And breathed a breath of thanks. 

Upon the bank they wheeled about — 

Almost upon the brink, 
The weary teams were taken out 

And refreshed with rest and drink. 

Now stood on the bank of the Ohio 

Each wonder seeking child; 
And some were charmed and delighted so, 

The tranquil water smiled. 

"Welcome," said the peaceful stream 

To the lasses on the shore. 
"Why so shy and bashful seem? 

Have you never been here before?" 

'Shame on you then, you need not frown, 

You silly backland girls. 
You miserable prisoners of the town! 

Shame on your boastful curls. 

Why should your parents let you live 

Penned up so near to me? 
No opportunities would they give. 

My lovely face to see? 



44 REFRESHING POEMS 



Shame on them then the stupid things 
That they should break my laws 

Rob you of a boon that nature gives 
And that without a cause. 

"Stop. Wait a minute, child, don't go; 

Some things I wish to tell — 
Some little things you ought to know. 

And ought to know them well, 

We're closer kin than you surmise 

Though you're not to blame 
It can be shown to your surprise 

Our interests are the same. 

'Tis I that puts life in the tree 
Beneath whose shade you play. 

My vapor forms the clouds you see 
And makes the the rainy day. 

Those juicy apple which you eat 

Allow their lives to me, 
Through scorching sunshine, cold and heat, 

I nourish that tender tree. 

I'm the potent fount of life and growth 

In this great land of ours, 
I scatter abroad and send out both — 

The breezes and the showers. 

I send aloft the flying cloud 

That sails o'er hill and plain. 
Blessing the humble and the proud 

With fresh, life-giving rain. 



REFRESHING POEMS 45 

Some of the blood within your veins 
Once through my channel played, 

Perhaps your teacher's taken pains 
To show you how you're made. 

Oh, I'm detaining you too long; 

You may go now it you wish. 
If yon had your hooks and they were strong 

I'd treat you to some fish. 

If you had the time I'd tell you more 

But of course you have it not, 
So turn your steeds back up my shore 

And resume your rocky trot. 

"Good bye, dear river!" the children said, 

"Good bye," the waters sighed. 
Then Wilson's hack the rough way led 

And rattling went the ride. 

All off for the spring, the famous spring; 

Like Ponce de Leon of old. 
Willing to venture anything 

They rushed with courage bold. 

Ruddle, puddle, rockety, flip. 

Up and down the hills, 
The wheels went humpty, bumpty, slip 

In the gullies of the rills. 

At last when three long miles were spent 

Since bidding the river adieu 
Into a dark ravine, they went, 

Midst trees of everv hue. 



46 REFRESHING POEMS 



Then bowed the green oaks, tall and slim, 
And bade them welcome there; 

While gay birds flit from limb to limb 
Their happiness to share. 

Soon, appearances gave the sign 

That something was at hand. 
"Whoa!" was uttered 'long the line 

And the horses came to a stand. 

All feeling glad and gratified 

Alighted on the ground. 
Rewarded was the toilsome ride 

For the cool spring now was found. 

They rushed upon that fountain clear, 

To admire, drink and rest. 
'Twas soul refreshing to be here — 

The cool spring's welcome guest. 

"You're here at last," the tall trees spoke. 

In nature's silent voice, 
"Your presence really seems a joke. 

Be merry and rejoice." 

From shrub and bush the echo came 

"Be merry and rejoice." 
And distant hill tops sent the same 

Calm, soul-inspiring voice. 

The real picnic uow took place. 

The bounteous feast was spread. 
Gladness beamed on every face 

And pleasant words were said, 



REFRESHING POEMS 47 

All that appetites could wish 

Or hungry souls could crave 
Came teeming forth from plate and dish 

At the command of the true and brave. 

There were meats and sweets and corn-bread 

And bread that wasn't corn, 
Till every soul was pleased and fed 

And the baskets left — forlorn. 

The picnic over, fun began. 

The mulberry tree was found 
With rocks and sticks the boys ran 

And the berries sought the ground. 

The target gun was brought along 

A shooting match was formed 
And in a merry sportful throng 

LiKe bees the children swarmed. 

Bang! they fired at the spot. 

Bang! the echo came. 
And the way they missed and hit it not 

Made the ladies blush with shame. 

The woods seemed teeming full of fun. 

The old folks were amused 
To see the playful children run, 

Although they felt excused, 

Like lambs the little noisy tots 

Ran up and down the hillside. 
Rejoicing in their playful plots 

Their hearts were satified. 



48 REFRESHING POEMS 



O; how the old folks wished that they 

Were children once again 
To share the pleasures of that day, 

Released from cares and sin. 

At last the signal call was sent 

Throughout the gleeful band; 
For the gala day was well nigh spent. 

And the old folks took command. 

The superintendent and teachers all 

In semi-circle groups 
Sent forth the mandatory call 

And the children came in troops. 

Then when brief remarks were made, 

Familiar hymns they sang. 
Reverberating in the shade 

The woods with music rang. 

The singtng ceased, all heads were bowed, 

Their humble thanks to pay 
To Him by whom they'd been allowed 

The blessings of the day. 

Again, their voices, clear and strong 

Rang out upon the breeze. 
As if the winds were turned to song, 

And echoed from the trees. 

Each superintendent made a talk 

Upon the Sunday school. 
Instructing children how to walk 

And keep the golden rule. 



REFRESHING POEMS 49 

The hackmen now the teams untied 
From the bushes where they stood, 

Made ready for the returning ride 
As hast'ly as they could, 

And as the hack wheels rolled away, 

Every soul was glad 
That all had spent this joyful day 

In the very way they had. 

They returned along diff'rent route 
From the one in which they came. 

A wonderful rock they'd heard about 
And longed to see the same. 

So the gala day was not complete; 

More fun was on ahead, 
For destined were those childish feet, 

That mighty rock to tread. 

The pinnacle rock was all their thought 

As they merrily rolled along. 
They hurried toward that famous spot. 

Its mossy peaks to throng. 

The rock, the rock was all their plea; 

The pinnacle rock of old. 
Upon that rock they soon would be, 

Its wonders to behold. 

They hustled through the sprinkling rain 
Which dampened not their wills. 

Their souls leaped forth in sweet refrain. 
While glancing at the hills. 



50 REFRESHING POEMS 



At last, across the weedy field, 

They spied a rugged height, 
And the children's lips were all unsealed, 

And broke loose with delight. 

No longer could those rampant lads 

Be held in their suspense, 
But rushing out like wiggle-tads, 

They hastTy leaped the fence. 

Like soldiers on the battle field, 

When charging on a fort, 
They shriek'd and yell'd, whoop'd and squeaFd 

And pressed on in their sport. 

Some parents in hacks preferred to stay; 

They looked on in delight. 
Unbidden, rose the wish that they 

Were young and in that flight. 

Like General Wolfe, the leader spies 

A path up the shrubby steep. 
"All follow me," he bravely cries. 

And up the hill they sweep. 

Then shouts of admiration rose. 

From all those left behind. 
As up the cliff on careful toes. 

Was echoed through the crowd. 

"Upon the mountain! Here we go!" 
Through the bushes came the yell. 

"We're climbing up on Mount Nebo.T 
The voices rose and fell. 



REFRESHING POEMS 51 

Look! now the front ranks reach the top, 

And stand without a fear, 
While far beneath with never a stop 

A crowd brings up the rear. 

Gay voices from the tip ring down 

And greet the crowd below. 
Whose eyes gaze up with anxious frown 

As struggling on they go. 

At last, the hindmost one is there; 

And what a happy band, 
For they can see most everywhere 

And view the distant land. 

"Let's sing a song," a boy exclaimed, 

"Up here on Pinnacle Rock." 
But, while to sing they were not ashamed, 

Too curious was the flock. 

Upon that famous rock sublime. 

All round about they walked; 
Against the demands of Father Time, 

They strolled about and talked. 

The beauteous landscape met their view, 

Far as the eye could see, 
Their minds ran out in fancies new, 

And their hearts were full of glee. 

With admiration all aglow, 

They read in the solid stone, 
Queer names cut there long years ago 

By hands long since unknown. 



52 REFRESHING POEMS 



At last they turned away and left 

That scene of much delight, 
Oft gazing back at the rugged cleft. 

To catch a farewell sight. 

The sun approached the Western hills 
As homeward bound they sped, 

The lowing herds and whistling mills 
Proclaimed the day most fled. 

And many weary longing eyes 

Shot forth to catch a glance 
Of the city steeples soon to rise 

And greet their swift advance. 

And now the smiling city rose, 

To bid them welcome in; 
And ere the twilight shadows close, 

They were safely home again. 

Like a happy dream; it came and went- 

The jolly picnic day; 
But, long as life is yet unspent, 

In memory it shall stay. 



TKc Voice of Conscience. 

There's a voice that's pleading with my soul, 

It's pleading every day; 
It importunes and seeks control 

Of all I do and say. 

It follows everywhere I go, 

Abiding day and night; 
And whether my spirit's high or low, 

It whispers, "Do the right." 

"Do right, do right," it ever pleads, 

In accents meek and mild; 
Sometimes my weary feet, it leads 

O'er deserts waste and wild. 

That loving, tender, pleading voice 

Is sometimes hard to heed; 
It sometimes makes my heart rejoice 

And sometimes makes it bleed. 

It sometimes leads against the will 

Of relatives or friends, 
But when its mandates I fulfil, 

My actions it commends. 

That still, small voice is pleading now, 

And urging me to start 
And carry out the solemn vow, 

Long made within my heart. 

53 



Progress of Slavery is\ tke Colonies- 

Owing to the fruits of negro labor, 

Jamestown in speculation grew; 
Most every wealthy man and neighbor, 

Favored slavery in his view. 

So while demand for slaves was growing, 
Shiploads of ether negroes came; 

Their labors soon made such a showing, 
Virginia much enhanced her fame. 

And though it may seem somewhat funny, 

To people in this latter day: 
They used the negros then for money, 

And the preachers took them for pay. 

The negroes were badly treated, 

No personal rights were they allowed: 

Even when their work they had completed, 
They could not gather in a crowd. 

Far out upon the wide plantation. 

The negro occupied a hut; 
And if he sought for an education 

Against him every door was shut. 

The victim of his master's notion, 

He had no use for thought; 
But for his muscular locomotion — 

Like the horse, the negro slave was bought, 

54 



REFRESHING POEMS 55 

Ship loads of negroes also landed, 

Away up in New Amsterdam; 
Their labors there, the dutch demanded, 

And bargained for the sons of Ham. 

The Dutch folks treated slaves more kindly, 

And did some privileges give: 
For though they did not dress so finely, 

Negroes could more like people live. 

They could hanlde books and learn to read them 
And when their daily tasks were done, 

Some had their masters to instruct them 
And thus some education won. 

But English people were so haughty, 
When they came to rule that land; 

To negroes, they were cruel and naughty, 
And kept them under fierce command, 

In what is now our New York City, 
The whipping boss was in evidence; 

He lashed the negro without pity, 
For almost any slight offence. 

And once between the slave and master, 

So much hatred was possessed, 
The negroes rose and brought disaster, 

But by soldiers were suppressed. 

In Massachusetts, too, there landed 

Negroes in an early day, 
Even where the pilgrims had demanded, 

That liberty should have full sway. 



56 REFRESHING POEMS 



Connecticut, too, and small Rhode Island, 
The hand of welcome did extend; 

In valleys and on rocky high lands, 
For slaves, the people did contend. 

New Hampshire, Maryland, South Carolina, 
And Georgia, did for slaves, declare; 

So did New Jersey, North Carolina, 
Pennsylvania and Deleware. 

Thus slavery got full recognition, 

In all the colonies of old; 
For in their greedy, rude condition, 

Men cherished it with courage bold. 

In the north, few crops were possible, 
Therefore, the northern colonist 

Found slave investments losable, 
And began its evils to resist. 

House servants only, could they be, 

And then there came the northern sequel- 

That human beings should be free, 

And human rights should be more equal. 

And when colonial days were ended, 
And statehood rights they did enjoy; 

The northern states, as was intended, 
The curse of slavery did destroy. 

But the people of the South were doomed, 

To hold on to that awful curse; 
For slaves were blessings, they presumed, 

Because they helped to swell the purse. 



REFRESHING POEMS 57 

The negro slave was so well suited, 

To the scorching rays of the summer sun;* 

That every increase was saluted, 
Because of what slave labor won. 

The southern people cultivated 

Tobacco, cotton and indigo; 
That's why the Southland highly rated, 

And held on to the negroes so. 



The Heroes of the War of 1812.* 

Out upon the deep and roaring sea, 
Awful as the frightful sight could be; 
Fierce and wild, a naval battle raged, 
In which the brave Johnson was engaged. 

John Davis, too, was in that mighty fight, 
Contending bravely for the cause of right; 
Both to the front ranks rushed and fearless 

fought, 
Unscared and heedless where the fight was hot. 

The hard pressed vessel, totered, reeled and 

rocked. 
While thick and fast, the whizzling bullets 

flocked; 
Like dauntless spartans in the days of old, 
These faithful heroes fought with courage bold 

But while they struggled with the mighty foe, 
A cannon ball laid brave John Johnson low. 
It cruely swept his lower limbs away, 
And writhing on the deck, his body lay. 

But he saw, while perishing there in despair, 
The stars and stripes still waving in the air. 
"Fire away, my boys!" he cried with painful 

frown, 
"Fire away! No haul a color down." 

*See Johnson's Negro History, Page 77. 

58 



REFRESHING POEMS 59 

Then as the fight progressed, another ball 

The legs of Davis swept and let him fall. 

As his comrades stumbled 'round his mangled 

frame, 
The captain heard his feeble voice exclaim: 

''Just throw me overboard! Do! if you please! 
For I am only in the way of these!" 
Thus these piteous heroes cried — 
Trying to help their comrades turn the tide. 

One shouted dying words, the fight to cheer, 
The other sought to leave the passway clear. 
Bravely were the words of the first obeyed, 
But no attention to the other was paid. 

Still rose the voice as if from the dead, 
"Fire away! My boys!" it faintly said. 
"No-haul-a-color-down" it feebly cried, 
Growing weaker, fainter, echoing till it died. 

Still, the other voice, in agony implored: 
"O Captain! Captain! Throw me overboard!" 
So piteously, this dying man appealed, 
Down the captain's cheek a tear crept uncon- 
cealed. 

Then glancing 'round with sympathetic eye, 
The captain wished the noble man would die. 
At last, the voices both were hushed in death, 
And sad, but freer, the captain drew his breath. 

"The stars and stripes are safe," said he, 
And protected will Old Glory ever be. 
America need not fear the tryant's might, 
While men like these are standing for the right." 



My Country. 

My country! How I love the name, 

Of the land that made free! 
Thy hills and valleys all proclaim, 

That thou art dear to me! 

The sun sheds forth his smiling rays 

Upon no fairer land — 
Where reigneth peace and grateful praise 

At heaven's sweet command. 

I'm glad my humble lot was cast 

Upon this scope of earth; 
My country, while this life shall last, 

Shall reap what I am worth. 

How beautiful, thy hills and plains, 

Spread out from sea to sea 
Where peace and plenty ever reigns, 

In the happy homes of the free ! 

Who does not love his native land? 

Breathes there a soul so dead, 
He does not feel and understand 

The blessings 'round him spread? 

Arise ye stupid, from the dust, 
And heed your country's call; 

Why sleep and pine away and rust? 
There's labor for us all. 

60 



REFRESHING POEMS 61 



America ! How sweet, the sound ! 

America ! My home ! 
For her, let joyful sounds abound, 

Where e'er her subjects roam. 



Color Doesn't Make the Man. 

Color doesn't make the man, 
Tis what's beneath the skin— 

Not that which the eye can see, 
But something hid within. 

You may be as white as snow, 

And yet not be a man. 
A man is one who loves the right 

And does the best he can. 

Color doesn't make the man, 

Do not be deceived. 
It takes sometime to know a man, 

In whom you have believed. 

Beneath surface of the skin, 

The hue is just the same: 
And for the outward coloring, 

Man is not to blame. 

Color doesn't make the man; 

There's much that it may lack 
Your superior may comfort you now, 

Beneath a skin that back. 

A man's a man because of deeds, 

That crope out from within 
'Tis noble hearts, the world most needs- 

Not colors of the skin. 

62 



The Negro's Here to Stay. 

Men may talk and legislate, 

And figure night and day; 
Now matter how they calculate, 

The negro's here to stay, 

He may be forced to stand aside, 
By those who have the sway; 

His equal rights may be denied, 
But yet he's here to stay. 

To Africa hell never go, 

For pleasure, love nor pay, 
So give the son of Ham a show, 

For he is here to stay. 

White men argue, talk and plan 

And clever thoughts convey, 
As to what they'll do with the black man, 

But the negro's here to stay. 

This is a white man's country, here — 

At least that's what they say, 
But the negro entertains no fearj 

For he is here to stay. 

Why not grasp the negro's hand 

And help him on the way? 
The white man brought him to this land, 

And he is here to stay. 

63 



64 REFRESHING POEMS 

Whether the negro's rich or poor 
And whether at work or play, 

Of one thing we may all be sure — 
The race is here to stay. 

The negro's blood helped pay the price 

Of the peace we have today. 
Breathes there a soul who feels too nice 

For the negro here to stay. 

You need not scorn his humble birth 

And strut by him so gay; 
For as long as heaven rules the earth 

The negro's here to stay. 

So remember the negro in your prayers, 

If ever you kneel to pray, 
And he will share your toils and cares, 

For he is here to stay. 



"As de Eagle StuKs Up Huh NesV* 

I'm not much on de sciences. 

I'm a plain gospel man. 
I preach whut's in de bible, 

And does de bes' I can. 

Now I tell you in de outset, 

I b'lieves in movin' about 
Weligion's not wuth havin' 

Ef it doesn't make you shout. 

I doesn't b'lieve in skweenchin' de speerit, 

When you want to holler out. 
You won't distub my pweachin'; 

Ef you feels lack shoutin', shout. 

Now kwritics, I guess you's heuh, 

And Mr. Skeptic, too, 
And 'f o I takes my tex' up, 

I'll pay my 'spects to you. 

Ef you come heuh to kwriticise 

And not to heah and b'lieve. 
You jes' as well to pack yo' gwipp, 

Right now. and take yo' leave. 

Cause I doesn't keer fuh gwamma. 

Hist'ry and withmutics, 
I'se got no Gweek and Latin, 

To de gospel truf I sticks. 

65 



66 REFRESHING POEMS 

Now bwudden an' sistuhs 

My tex' you'd nevuh guess. 
Now, listen an' I'll read it — 

'"As de eagle stuhs up huh ness." 

Don't ax me whah its at, now. 

'Taint none o' yo' bizniz 'bout dat. 
You ladies stop dat talkin' ! 

Dis aint no place to chat. 

Yo' silks and feathuhs makes you fools; 

You thinks you's mighty gran' 
But I doesn't take no f oolinish 

I'd have you unduhstan'. 

Now den to de tex' again: 

"As de eagle stuhs up huh ness." 

Now, bwuduhs and sistuhs, pray, 
An' de Lawd will own an' bless. 

I'm awful hoase dis evenin', 

Friad my voice gwine to give way. 

But de Lawd will pull me through 
Ef you'll jes' only pray. 

Dah's gwine to be a mighty stuhrin 

In dis po'tion of de Ian'. 
De Lawd's gwine to stuh de sinnuhs 

What doesn't keep his command. 

Ef you evuh gits to heavun 
You's got to quit yo' stealin'. 

Unless you do yo' 'ligion's dead — 
Taint got no life an' feelin'. 



LofC; 



REFRESHING POEMS 67 

"As de eagle stuhs up huh ness," 

Jes listen to de word! 
Wake up! and stop dat sleepin, 

De gospel mus' be heard. 

De eagle is a mighty bird, 

Six foot f'om tip to tip. 
Now hold on to dese gospel fac's, 

Min' don't let um slip. 

"As de eagle stuhs up huh ness." 

'Member dat's de tex'. 
"We'll pass on from de fus' pint 

An' now take up de nex'. 

Can't you witness to de truf '? 

Why dou't you say a-man? 
I lacks to heah some witnesses, 

When I does de bes' I can. 

De eagle sails above ail birds. 

Yes! He can sail so high 
Dat ef you try to look at him 

You'd ovuh strain yo' eye. 

So you, my bwuduhs and my sistuhs, 

Mus' sail above yo' sins. 
Its when you sails too low 

Yo' trouble all begins. 

We'll stuh up dis old ness down heah, 

An' leave dis house of clay, 
An' fly up to de bulah land 

Whah its always bwight as day. 



68 REFRESHING POEMS 

Can't nobody say a-man? 

You sets dah like you's dead. 
Won't yo' 'ligion make you do no mo' 

Dan set and nod yo' head? 

As de eagle stuhs her ness. 

Yes! He sails above de cloud 
An' looks down on de lightnin* 

He feels so gran' and proud. 

Yes! De eagle stan's upon de cloud 

An' bids his sorrows cease 
De sun shines on his werry head 

An' fills his soul wid peace, 

Ah, yes! I don't care whudder you shout or not 

'Gwine to pweach on anyhow, 
De gospel wheel is rollin' 

An' you can't stop it now. 

De Lawd is gwine to stuh up 

Dis hellish wicked town. 
He's coming at de las' day 

An' yo' sins will all be foun'. 

Yes! Evuh sekwet of de haht 

Shall sweetly be made known. 
Unless you sinnuhs make a staht 

In hell you'll burn and moan. 

As de eagle stuh up huh ness! 

Yes! 'Way by and by. 
When all who loves de name of de Lawd 

Gwine to fly up to de sky. 



REFRESHING POEMS 69 



Den we'll meet de good folks 
Whuts gone dah long ago — 

Now baskin' in de sunshine 
On dat etuhnal sho,. 

Now pray on chillun, pray on. 

May de Lawd own and bless. 
'Member whut my tex' wus — 

"As de eagle stuhs up huh ness." 



CONTENTS. 

What's in a Name ? 5 

Landing of the First Twenty 6 

Kind Words to the Despondent 12 

Mind How You Say Good Morning 13 

Memories of Childhood ... 14 

Herod Travis . . . . . . 20 

The Heathen at Your Door 22 

My Little Trundle Bed 24 

Phillis Wheatley 27 

They Think They Know It All 30 

Drifting From the Right 31 

Crispus Attucks in the Boston Massacre 34 

The Sunrise 37 

Benjamin Banneka 39 

The Sunday School Picnic 41 

The Voice of Conscience 53 

Progress of Slavery in the Colonies 54 

The Heroes of the War of 1812 58 

My Country 60 

Color Doesn't Make the Man 62 

The Negro's Here to Stay 63 

As de Eagle Stuhs Up Huh Nes' . 65 

70 



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